Cloud & Shade
by J.L.Harper
Summary: Sequel to "Mist & Shadow". Athrun and Mornië are parents! But what happens when a vengful spectre from their past haunts their only daughter? Please R&R!
1. Prologue

Mornië and Ariel walked arm in arm through the new elven settlement in Ithilien. There were still places that were incomplete, but the beauty of the city was already evident. "You really should come see me more often," Ariel nudged her friend in the ribs.  
  
"Yes, I know, but..." her voice trail off suddenly.  
  
"But what?" Mornië had stopped, and her face had paled. Are you alright child?"  
  
Mornië nodded after a moment. "It's nothing," she brushed off her friends concern, "I've just not been feeling like myself lately." Ariel looked at the young she-elf suspiciously. Mornië was like a daughter to Ariel, and the older elf could tell when something was wrong. However, she didn't push the matter.  
  
They continued walking for several minutes in companionable silence. Ariel became even more concerned when Mornië stopped again, her hand pressed to her stomach, and her complexion turning positively green. "Are you sure you're alright?" Mornië never answered. She ran to the nearest bush, bent double, and heaved her breakfast into the grass.  
  
"Are you sick child?" Ariel asked when the she-elf finally straightened again, still clutching her stomach.  
  
"No, no. It comes and goes. Mostly in the mornings."  
  
Ariel nodded slowly and suspiciously. "How long has this been going on?" she inquired.  
  
Mornië looked at her strangely. "A couple of weeks I suppose," she shrugged, "Why?"  
  
Ariel grinned. "I think I know what's 'wrong' with you."  
  
"There's nothing 'wrong' with me," Mornië produced a handkerchief and wiped her mouth. "I'm fine; it will pass."  
  
"In about 10 months it will." Ariel examined a non-existent speck of dirt under her fingernails.  
  
"What do you mean?" Mornië's face had gone completely blank.  
  
"I think you know what I mean."  
  
Understanding slowly dawned on Mornië's, but it was quickly replaced with a sick look as she rushed for the bushes again.  
  
Athrun walked briskly through the halls looking for his wife. He wanted to tell her about the forthcoming celebration. The elves in Ithilien had decided they needed a temporary distraction from the constant work and building.  
  
"Lord Athrun," A young elf ran up to him and tugged on his sleeve.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Lady Mornië and Lady Ariel wish to speak with you. hey said to meet them in the kitchen."  
  
"The kitchen?" Athrun looked at the elfling curiously. What did they want with him there? Athrun, confused, made his way quickly to the kitchens. The last time he had made a trip there it was to rescue his wife from Ariel's cooking instructions. When he arrived, he was met by the odd sight of Mornië sitting at a table with Ariel, ravenously consuming a bowl filled with what looked like onions and peaches.  
  
He wrinkled his nose in a rather undignified manner. "What's going on here?" he inquired, sitting down across from the two.  
  
"Mornië has something she would like to tell you." Ariel smiled sweetly at him.  
  
Athrun began to feel nervous suddenly. "What is it?"  
  
Mornië stopped mid bite and looked at Ariel with a look that said "Do I have to?" Ariel elbowed her, and she swallowed, setting the food down. "Well, um... Athrun... uhh..." She flashed him a big innocent grin. "You're going to be a father!"  
  
Athrun stared at her for several seconds, not saying anything.  
  
"Athrun?" Mornië glanced worriedly at Ariel, who sat there watching the entire exchanged with a bemused grin on her face. There was a loud thump. Mornië whirled back to face Athrun only to find him lieing on the floor in a dead faint.  
  
Ariel chuckled. "Men; they can face an army of foes without flinching, and suffer without complaint, but tell them that they're going to be fathers and they act like little girls. Congratulations dear." She patted Mornië on the shoulder and grinned, leaving the room. 


	2. Strange Occurances

"Go find Adar, gremlin. Tell him it's almost dinner time." Mornië swatted Aingeal on the bottom as the child dashed back out the door. "And try to stay clean!" Aingeal just rolled her eyes at her mother before going in search of her father.

Thalion, Athrun's half-grown excuse for a sight hound, licked Mornië's hand in a silent plea to be allowed to follow. She scratched the silver haired animal behind the ears before nodding. "Get out of here." Thalion ran off after Aingeal barking happily.

The path was heavily wooded on both sides, and bright patches of sunlight shone through the green canopy above. Aingeal had mysteriously 'lost' her shoes earlier in the day, and she ran barefoot down the trail leading to the city, her feet padding silently on the warm earth. Thalion ran ahead of her, his ears flopping wildly as he loped down the path barking.

Aingeal cut off the path and made a beeline through the trees and bushes. "Adar!" she shouted, jumping off of a short embankment back onto the path, and into his arms.

Athrun caught his daughter in a hug. Thalion charged down the embankment seconds behind her. "You two are a little far from home." He poked Aingeal in the ribs as Huisuume continued down the path as if nothing had happened. Aingeal squirmed and giggled when Athrun poked her again. "You know, these sneak attacks of yours have consequences."

Aingeal began squirming in earnest when her father said this. "What's this!" he asked in mock surprise. "You're laughing already?" Aingeal could barely contain her giggles. He shrugged and began tickling her anyway.

"Stop!" Aingeal squealed as her tickled her, kicking and squirming, to the point where she was in danger of falling off the horse.

"Are you asking for mercy?" Athrun paused for a brief second to pull her upright.

"Yes!" Aingeal practically shrieked.

"Say it."

"Mercy, Ada!"

Athrun stopped tickling her and set her in front of him, letting her hold Huisuume's reins loosely. Aingeal hiccuped and giggled again. "So did your mother send you to find me again, Loté? 'flower'" He tugged on her hair playfully, using her nickname.

Aingeal nodded. "Said it was almost dinner time." She hiccuped again, then sneezed.

Athrun chuckled. "Ariel told me to bring you with me tomorrow."

"Ammé too?" Aingeal dropped Huisuume's reins and turned to look Athrun.

He nodded. "I can't figure out why but she seems quite taken with you."

"It's 'cuz I'm cute!" Aingeal proclaimed shamelessly.

"Oh, what makes you think that?" Athrun tickled her again.

"Because you said so!" she giggled in her defence. Her saviour came as her mother came to the doorway.

"Dinner you two. Get in here and wash up; you're both filthy." She shook her head. Like Father like daughter. They were two peas in a pod.

Athrun winked at Aingeal as he lowered her from Hiusumme's back. "Filthy?" He looked down at himself as he sidled up to his wife. "What makes you say that?"

Mornië backed away from him and the mischievous glint in his eyes. "Don't come anywhere near me." She knew that look very well. Athrun managed to snag her wrist as she retreated. Pulling her closer, her wrapped an arm around her waist. "I'm hurt." Mornië snorted as she tried to break free. He placed a playful peck on her cheek and grinned.

Aingeal stared at them with a wrinkled nose. "Eew, kissing..."

Athrun laughed and scooped her up. "Come on Loté, lets go get cleaned up before Ammé kicks us out of the house."

XXXXXXXX

A shadowy figure slid between the tree shadows that surrounded the small house. The sounds of laughter and good-natured bantering coming from within grated on already raw nerves. Slowly circling, the spectre made a mental map of the surroundings. The time would come. The time for revenge and vindication. The figure moved in closer to the dwelling place, spotting the father and daughter. _"So, he has a daughter... how convenient."_

XXXXXXXX

"Can I go play?" Aingeal pleaded with her parents when she had finished. Mornië nodded as she began to wash up the few dishes they had used. "Whoo!" the young girl grabbed Thalion by the scruff of the neck and pulled him along with her.

XXXXXXXX

The spectre watched the little girl bound out of the house full of laughter and energy. Watched her half-wrestle half-romp with the large silver dog. The animal would present a small problem to plans, but he wasn't anything that couldn't be dealt with. Circling around the pair carefully, the figure kept their distance, while following them closely as they moved further and further from the house. Soon, they would be out of sight, and the cloaked stranger could make their move. The painstakingly silent and careful footsteps following went unnoticed by either the girl or the dog. They continued their romping undisturbed as they made their way toward a small, muddy creek that ran nearby.

Knowing they couldn't be seen from the house, the phantom stepped from the tree shadow. Aingael didn't at first notice him, but Thalion bristled and bared his fangs.

Clutching a rag in it's deathly, white hand, the cloaked figure advanced slowly. Aingeal turned to look up when a shadow fell over her from behind. Her eyes widened slightly. Taking a tiny step back, Aingeal stared up at the stranger with wide eyes and screamed. Thalion growled, stopping the figure for a moment.

Moving quickly, the figure grabbed the elfling in its thin, twisted, yet surprisingly strong hands. One hand stuffed the rag into her mouth as he began moving back unto the forest away from her home. Thalion growled a sharper warning, but he was again ignored. The dog howled his outrage, lunging at the fiend who was stealing his mistress away.

The dog latched onto a cloth shrouded leg, his sharp incisors tearing through the material. The figure cursed in anger and struck the animal sharply. Thalion fell back with a yelp.

Quieting the struggling girl as best as possible, the spectre listened for a moment. The sounds of frantic movement the the east told the figure that the dog's yelps and the girl's scream had been heard. Cursing again, the stranger yanked one bony hand free and pulled a vial from the folds dark material. Pulling the stopper from the bottle with sharp, white teeth, it tilted the elfing's head back roughly, and emptied the entire contents into her open eyes. Only the rag in her mouth kept the blood-curdling scream she emitted when the liquid entered her eyes from being heard across the entirety of Middle-earth.

Shoving her away roughly, the figure vanished into the shadows in a swirl of dark material and a whispering of a breeze.

XXXXXXXX

"Aingeal!" Athrun crashed through the underbrush heedlessly, closely followed by Mornië. Mornië had only just managed to grab Athrun's bow before she dashed out the door, cursing her skirts as ran. Thalion's barking and howls followed by a stifled scream had seized both their hearts in an icy grip of fear.

They found Thalion first. The dog was limping, but still growling and furious about something. Athrun spied a bit of blue material out of the corner of his eye. "Aingeal!" He dashed towards it, his feet driven by dread. " Loté!" He swept her into his arms gently, fearful of any injury she might have. The elfling was rubbing her eyes fiercely, whimpering and sniffling.

Mornië ran a hand down the back of her daughter's head as much for her own comfort as for Aingeal's. "Let me see, little one," she murdered, pulling the girl's hands away from her eyes. Aingeal's clear blue eyes were red and bloodshot, and an oily substance covered the area around her eyes and cheeks.

Athrun wiped some of it away with the edge of his tunic and picked her up, cradling her against his chest. "Lets go get you cleaned up," he said comfortingly, casting a worried glance at Mornië, who's eyes mirrored his concern.

**XXTHE NEXT DAYXX**

"Ariel!" Aingeal flung herself into the she-elf's arms. Ariel squeezed the elfing, laughing. "How are you, little one? Goodness you've grown."

Aingeal looked up at the woman who had been like a grandmother to her. Her vision went fuzzy for a few seconds, and she blinked quickly to clear it. She hadn't told anyone, not ever her parents, that she was having trouble seeing at times. "I hope so. I want to be as tall as Ada!"

"And I'm sure you will be!" Ariel tickled the elfling. "So, what do you say we finish that embroidery we've been working on?" Ariel grinned. She hoped to make up for the fact that Mornië never learned to embroider by teaching her daughter.

Aingeal hesitated for a second. It didn't go un-noted by Ariel, who said nothing about it. "Okay." The worry in Aingeal's voice made Ariel wonder. She didn't know what would make the girl hesitate about continuing to learn skills with needle and thread. Ariel fetched the embroidery and the two made themselves comfortable among the plentiful cushions of the long couch.

Aingeal glanced nervously at Ariel and then looked back at her embroidery, squinting slightly. The pattern, a simple, floral sampler, blurred slightly. She pulled it closer to her face, placing her needle through the cloth at the next marking. "Ow!" Aingeal sucked on the finger she had just poked.

"Careful," Ariel admonished, watching the girl carefully, "You'll get blood on the pattern."

Aingeal rolled her eyes. "I'm more worried about my finger."

Ariel grinned at the girl. "That's something your mother would say." the she-elf ruffled her pupils hair.

"How could you have missed that?" Ariel stood on the sidelines as Aingeal tried to show her how much better she had become with the bow.

Aingeal said nothing as she notched another arrow and moved up a few paces. Cursing her blurry eyes silently, she took aim. Praying mentally that this shot would be closer to the target than the last, she released the arrow, waiting for the solid "thud" that should follow. The arrow whistled past the target and into the brush beyond.

"I've never seen you miss like this child; are you alright?"

"It's nothing," Aingeal insisted, "I guess I'm tired. Maybe we should go find Adar," Aingeal's shoulders slumped slightly. She couldn't think for the life of her what was wrong. Turning toward the rack of bows to her right, the world around her dimmed slightly as if there were a very heavy, grey mist surrounding everything. She walked slowly because of it. Suddenly, everything went black. No amount of blinking could clear it.

She froze where she was, slightly scared by the sudden blackness that engulfed her. "Ariel?"

"What's wrong child?"

"I... I can't see!"

XXXXXXXX

The golden sun dipped down towards the mountains, its hues changing subtly from gold to pink, bathing the small city in its dancing light. Outside the hall of the healers, Arial paced slowly.

The door to the House of Healing had been firmly closed and had remained so ever since she had brought Aingeal to the healers. Almost an hour had passed between the uncanny end of their time on the archery fields. She had send for Mornië long ago, but her friend had yet to arrive. The only explanation she could come up with was that Athrun had taken her with him to the meeting of the city elders. Eru only knew how long that could take.

The sound of rapid footsteps echoed through the relatively silent hall, causing her to turn. "Arial," Mornië greeted her friend with an expression of relief, "When the messenger said you had called for me from the house of the healers, I was worried. What's wrong?" Arial was at a loss for words for once, unsure of how to explain the events of the afternoon. Mornië looked around. "Where's Aingeal?" The worry reappeared in her eyes.

Arial reluctantly nodded to the closed door.

"Why? What happened? She's not..." Mornië's terrified face was almost too much for Arial.

"No, she's not hurt exactly..." she trailed off, trying to think of how she could pose the information gently. "She's having her eyes looked at."

"What for? Her eyes are perfectly fine."

"Maybe you should sit down" Arial gestured to one of the conveniently placed benches.

"I'll stand," Mornië insisted.

Arial recognized her familiar stubbornness rising. Parenthood and a new life hadn't made Mornië weak. Arial nodded in acceptance. "I noticed something wrong with her this morning during our sewing lessons. We both know Aingeal hates sewing, but she seemed to be having a particularly difficult time. I didn't think much of it then, but, this afternoon, she was showing me what she had learned in archery, but she kept missing the target. She surprised me when she said she couldn't see anything. I immediately brought her here to the healers." She paused. "I think she may be going blind."

Mornië didn't react for several minutes. Her eyes searched Arial's face as if trying to convince herself it wasn't a sick joke. Without saying a word, she turned and pushed open the door to the healer's cottage roughly. Arial stood in the hall, startled at her friend's reaction but not surprised. From inside the building came the sounds of protest.

"Milady, you can't just barge..."

"I want to see my daughter; get out of my way."

"I'm sorry, but I can't..." A thump, a small crash, and then silence emerged from the still open doorway.

Arial cringed, and stepped cautiously towards the doorway. Mornië's voice sounded strained. "Send for Athrun please." Arial couldn't see where her friend was, but judging from the healer's startled and somewhat terrified glances toward a side room, she could take a wild guess.


	3. Prison Walls

"Where is she!" Athrun was furious. Even Mornië knew better than to cross him when he was in this mood. He had practically come storming through the halls the moment he discovered Aingeal had gone missing again. "Are you telling me you can't keep track of a 16 year old girl!" Athrun raged at the elf before him. Ilterendi just stood there calmly.

He had been appointed as Aingeal's bodyguard some years before, when Athrun discovered that the girl's blindness wasn't going to confine her to the "safety" of the flet, where Athrun would prefer her to be. "I'm sure she's fine my lord," He tried to calm the furious elf, "It's not like it's the first time she's done this." Athrun's eyes flashed in anger, "Which means, that you should know better by now than to let her out of your sight!"

"Athrun," Mornië laid on hand carefully on Athrun's arm. "She'll be fine; you need to let her have i_some_/i time alone."

"What if she gets hurt?" His voice gentled. Sighing in frustration, he levelled his still smouldering gaze at Ilterendi. "You're coming with me."

XXXXXXXX

Aingeal walked slowly, her hand trailing along the hedge to her left. Birds chirped around her and the sound of water to her left informed her of her location. She knew that within a few feet she would find a small gate that would let her out of the gardens and into the wild unknown outside the city.

She had finally been able to ditch her bodyguard, much to her own comfort. It felt liberating to go somewhere and know she wasn't being followed. Her searching hand found the latch of the gate and lifted it. Not many people even knew that the gate existed. It was more of a small passage that the garden keeper used to take clippings and such outside of the city.

Crouching down to avoid the low ceiling she knew was there, she silently glided through the short passage on bare feet. Bare feet; another defiant symbol of freedom and her own rebellion against her father's wishes. She could feel the familiar warmth of her pet ferret snuggled comfortably against her body inside her tunic, sleeping happily again. Her father would be furious at her disappearance, but the hard earned freedom was well worth the cost.

The think pine needles covering the forest floor tickled the bottoms of her bare feet. She pushed her black braid over her shoulder nearly knocking Kira, her white ferret off her shoulder. The animal let out a soft hissing sound, communicating her indignation, and nipped Aingeal in the ear as punishment. Aingeal winced but made no other sign that she had felt anything. With on hand stretched out in front of her and the other stroking Kira under her chin, she proceeded deeper into the forest. Her ears picked up sounds that even most elves didn't hear. Her lack of sight had some benefits but not enough.

Still, despite that fact, she moved confidently through the wooded area. She knew exactly where she was, as well as where she was going. Her feet didn't make a sound as they brushed silently across the grass and leaves, deftly side stepping stones and fallen branches. The ground sloped upwards, gradually becoming steeper. She grabbed onto nearby sapling and branches to pull herself up, her feet somehow finding the hidden path that etched its way across the mountain diagonally. The sun broke through the thinning branches as she neared a lower peak, fingers of warmth dancing on her face as its rays fell upon her.

The sounds of the forest filled her ears. Sounds that almost seemed foreign to her. Since her blindness eight years before, Her father had become increasingly paranoid. He used the excuse that he was trying to protect her, and that it was for her own good. Aingeal had heard all of his reasons enough to ignore them. His will to "protect" her was what kept her from any real happiness.

_"Don't leave the flet without Ilterendi. Don't leave the city. Don't run. Don't fool around with archery. Don't do this. Don't do that. You might get hurt. Be careful_..." The common phrases echoed through her mind. She had never submitted to her father's will. He imposed it upon her by force. Still, she defied him every chance she got. She was not some animal that could be caged and controlled.

He wanted her to be lady like, to wear dresses, and stay in the house where it was safe. She had managed to defy all three wishes in one hour; by no means a record, but still an accomplishment considering the circumstances. Today she had managed to sneak out her second story window while Ilterendi thought she was sleeping. It had given her at least an hour's head start before anyone would realize she was missing.

Her loose black pants whispered around her ankles as she topped the crest of the peak. She knew that that point that it flattened out in a stretch of flat bare stone, creating a ledge that stuck out several meters over the edge of the mountain. A strong wind blew across the stones, cooling them some as they warmed in the clear sunlight.

"Ten paces," Aingeal whispered as she counted her steps forward. From where she now stood inches only separated her from the ledge. The wind whipped about her, blowing the loose tendrils of hair about her face and the ends of her untucked swordsman shirt about her waist. When she stood there, it almost seemed that there was music in the wind; a song reserved fro her ears alone. Kia stuck her cold nose in Aingeal's ear, interrupting the moment suddenly. "You rat," she muttered good naturedly to the ferret before sitting down cross-legged on the warm stone.

How long she sat there, alone with her thoughts and wishes, she didn't know. The sun had sunk low in the sky, nearing the horizon. She wanted to remain unfound until sunset, but the likelihood of that actually happening was very slim. "I can wish if I want to," her voice was lost on the steady wind.

Kira scurried off to hunt for her dinner, and quickly returned to curl up in Aingeal's lap, falling fast asleep. Aingeal couldn't help envying the creature. Its life consisted of eating, sleeping, causing mischief, and sleeping some more. She stroked the small animal's fur absently and lay back on the stone, letting its warmth seep through her clothing to her wind chilled skin.

Just as she began to doze off, the sound of voices reached her sensitive ears, bringing her to full wakefulness. It didn't take a genius to figure out who the voices belonged to. It was her father and Ilterendi. There was no point in trying to hide. Neither elf was a fool; it would only be a matter of time before they found her. Her expression settled into a steely and defiant scowl. Scooping up Kira, she stood and inched a little closer to the edge of the sheer rock face.

"Aingeal?" Her father's voice echoed through the trees and reached her ears more clearly than before. She turned to face the edge off the cliff, to catch the last bit of warmth from the dieing sun before it sank below the western horizon. Her shoulders stiffened slightly as the voices drew even closer. Kia climbed groggily back to her shoulder as she waited. The bars of her prison were descending once again and there was nothing she could do to stop them, nothing she could do to escape them permanently.

Aingeal!" She heard his footsteps clearly as he stepped onto the stone. A few seconds later she was yanked roughly away from the edge by the back of her shirt. "What in Eru's name do you think you are doing!" She could hear the rage in his voice, but refused to respond. He may as well go yell and rant at a tree. He would get about as much response.

His fingers tightened almost painfully around her forearm as he pulled her away from the precipice, still expressing his outrage loudly. Aingeal knew Ilterendi was there too, probably watching silently. Athrun continued to rant, his finger's tightening their grip as he shook her a little by the shoulders to get his point across. Aingeal didn't show any recognition of the contact, but was fully aware of his crushing grip.

Ilterendi stepped forward and lay a hand on the elf lord's arm. Athrun glared at him for a moment as a silent message passed between the two. Athrun let go of Aingeal and turned away, "Take her home, and don't let her out of your sight until I meet you there."

Ilterendi nodded and silently guided Aingeal back down the path. Kira looked up at Athrun with glittering black eyes before nipping his ankle in indignation and scampering away after her mistress.

XXXXXXXXXX

The only sounds that broke the silence as Aingeal and Ilterendi made their way back down the mountain were those of the woodland creatures and the wind in the treetops. Ilterendi noted Aingeal's stony silence and respected it by not urging her to talk.

The animosity between the young she-elf and her father had only grown through the years. It was only amplified by Athrun's overprotective nature constantly stifling Aingeal, who was just as, if not even more, independent as her father. By trying to keep his daughter close, Lord Athrun was only pushing her away more and more everyday.

It was only once they were inside the city that Aingeal finally spoke, bitterness evident in her voice. "He's such a hypocrite," she spat, "I hate him." Ilterendi shook his head imperceptibly.

"He's only trying to protect you," he told her patiently, "He reacts out of fear for you."

"Well he doesn't need to!" She burst out, "I'd rather be dead than live my life under his tyranny!" She muttered some other explicates under her breath in a number of languages before storming ahead of Ilterendi. Kira skittered between his feet after her, her little claws scratching against the smooth stone of the walkway.

Ilterendi rubbed a hand across his face in frustration before following her. At this rate Athrun was going to lose his daughter entirely.


	4. She Walked Away

"Catch!" Tal flung a silver platter across the clearing like a Frisbee to Eavan. Eavan caught the dish with one hand then spun it on the tip of his finger. "Dashing fellow, don't you think?" he asked the group of six, admiring his reflection in the polished metal.

"I think the metal may be playing tricks on your eyes Eavan," Certi winked at her friends. She was a rough and unpolished girl of about eighteen with wild red hair that flew every direction at once. Eavan looked hurt.

"I'm devastated." He held a hand to his chest in mock dismay earning a snort from Faran, who lounged careless on the ground his head pillowed on his cloak.

"Don't go crying in your ale, Eavan."

"Nice," Eavan shook his head and rummaged around in one of the bags producing a bottle of wine. "See if I share this fine commodity with the rest of you muckers," He stuck his tongue out childishly before uncorking in the bottle and swallowing a mouthful.

"Don't make me sit on you," Certi stalked across the small meadow toward him. Toboe stood from his seat on the ground, grabbing the bottle from Eavan. "Sit down, Certi," he waved her away before taking a drink from the bottle. "Eck!" he sprayed the wine all over the grass. "That's disgusting." Toboe wiped his mouth.

Eavan laughed. "Some connoisseur you are." Certi grimaced after her drink. "I thought it was a find commodity Eavan." "Fine commodity my big toe!" Certi shoved the bottle back at Eavan. "You're welcome to it."

"No argument there," Eavan swirled the red liquid in the bottle happily. Faran rolled his eyes at his younger friends. "You guys need help," Tal smirked. "The kind of help we need isn't available."

"I'm really going to miss you guys," Certi chuckled, stuffing her share of the loot into a sack. Kip sat straight up.

"You're leaving!" he asked in alarm.

She nodded to the younger boy. "I've received word through a contact of mine that my father is very ill. I've decided I'm going to go back home and help him until he can get back on his feet."

"When did this happen?" Eavan demanded.

"I got word just last night," she told him, giving him a look that dared him to challenge her decision.

A small voice spoke up after a moment. "So I suppose this would be a bad time to tell you I'm planning on heading west for the mountains, huh?" Eavan stared at Toboe in disbelief. "You're kidding right?"

Certi rolled here eyes, "Of course we are! We just like to pack up once or twice a week for the heck of it." She smiled sweetly. Eavan gave her a sour look and took another swig of wine.

Faran cursed. "We can't do this with half the gang gone. It's not possible." He stood and began pacing. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Well, while we were running for our lives didn't really seem like the opportune time," Toboe quipped.

"It' not permanent" Tal broke in before Faran said something he would regret. "Oh so you're leaving too?" the older thief turned on him. "That's just dandy? Who else is deserting?"

Certi snorted. "There's nothing you can do, Faran. We've got lives and things that need to be taken care of."

"Are you suggesting I don't?" By now Faran was fuming.

"Hey, no need to get all worked up about it," Tal soothed his partner, "As soon as everything is taken care of, we'll find a way to join back up with the gang. We're not deserting. Just taking... err... leave." He slapped his friend on the back.

"Whatever," Faran shrugged, trying to pretend he didn't care. This group had been together for several years now. They were like family' the only family most of them had ever had. "You all know where the meeting place is. That's where I'll be." He stalked off into the darkness alone.

Tal sighed and strapped his sword to his belt, and heaving his pack onto his shoulder turned to the others.

"Come back safe," Certi acknowledged gruffly, picking up her own things, disguising the emotion in her voice.

Tal smiled, "May your swords stay sharp." He turned and melted into the darkness outside the torch's light, looking in the direction Faran had gone. He would miss his friend. He just hoped Faran's temper didn't get him in any undo trouble.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Mornië worked quietly as she sharpened the blade of a dagger. Across from her, Aingeal carefully waxed the string of her mother's bow. It was a task Mornië had shown her daughter when she was very little; the girl's blindness didn't inhibit her in this at all. Rather, her sensitive fingers let her know when the right amount of beeswax had been applied.

The silence between them was unnerving, but it was something Mornië had almost come to expect from her daughter. She was pulling more and more into herself, refusing to speak to her father, and on rare occasions speaking to her mother. The one that actually got her to talk the most was Ilterendi. The silence wore on, broken only by the rasping of Mornië's blade on the whetstone.

"So are you going to talk to him?" She asked finally, watching her daughter's face for any hint of emotion. Aingeal's face didn't change. Her blindness gave her the advantage of being able to hide her emotions behind a mask. She didn't see other people's reactions, and so she didn't imitate them herself.

"What's the point?" Aingeal's voice was bitter, "He doesn't listen. I'll never be what he wants me to."

"All I want is for you to be protected." Aingeal started slightly, not having heard her father approach. Mornië glared at him for interrupting. It was the most Aingeal had said in weeks to her at one time. Aingeal set the bow aside. Mornië saw her sightless eyes seem to turn to ice.

"I don't need to be protected," her voice was dangerously low.

Mornië saw the unavoidable clash coming. Athrun never responded very well to Aingeal's attitude, and he was still fuming mad about her running away the day before.

"Someday you're going to have to accept that you're blind Aingeal. With that come limitations, which means you're going to have to realize that I know what is best for you!"

Aingeal stood up. Mornië sought cover from the storm about to break loose by retreating behind her work. It was never wise to interrupt a fight between these two.

"What you think is best is to keep my in a prison!" Aingeal's hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Who do you think you are?" Aingeal never raised her voice, but it held a challenging tone.

"You even went so far as to lock my window from the outside! Why can't you just accept that I can do anything anyone else can do?"

"I'm your father!" Athrun's temper was rising, "I know what is best for you, and you will do as I tell you!"

"I don't need to listen to your list of things I should be," Aingeal snapped, "I've heard it all my life. You can't just let me live my life! You're smothering me! You're just afraid that you'll lose control of me! Well guess what! You never had control over me!"

"That's enough, young lady!"

"No, it's not enough! Everything I do is a mistake in your eyes! Maybe I was a mistake! After all, it seems I can't be what you want me to be."

"Ilterendi!" The elf stepped from around a corner, "Escort this child to her chambers." He emphasized the words 'child'.

Aingeal wrenched her arm from the elf's grasp, "I'll go gladly. Anything to get away from you. You're nothing but a tyrant." She stormed away, followed by her bodyguard.

The shatter of glass from the upper floor of their flet caused Mornië to wince.

Aingeal flung another vase at the door for good measure. As soon as she had a chance she was leaving, for good. Nothing and no one was going to stop her. Her father was never going to change. She didn't regret her outburst. It felt good in fact.

The faint sound of the latch lifting on the door made her whirl around. Still furious, and not in the mood to listen to another lecture, she kicked off her shoes and hurled one of them at the door. The door slammed shut again and she sat down on her bed. Listening for a moment to be sure no one else was going to try and open the door; she dropped to the floor and reached under the bed.

Her father thought he had managed to confiscate all of her pants and weapons after her last escapade. He didn't know as much as he thought he did. Stretching to reach it, she pulled a long smooth wooden chest from beneath the bed. It was no more than eight inches high, and just as much deep, but it was at least a sword or more in length.

Throwing her other shoe at the door for good measure, she searched for the key that hung around her neck. Placing the key in the lock, she opened the lid and lifted out the chest's contents. On top of a pile of a black cloak and veil rested a long thin sword, no thicker than two or three sheets of paper, carefully etched with a scrolling line down the blade, the thin one handed hilt wrapped in fresh cloth, securely laced. Its matching sheath was of soft black leather, etched with a matching design in maroon, with two thick leather laces at the top to tie it to the wearer's belt. It had been passed on to her by her mother. Her father knew nothing of it. Aingeal removed it and lay in on the bed, covering it with the black cloak. The cloak was surprisingly light, being only a summer cloak. Beneath it laid a pair of loose black pants and a matching swordsman shirt she had filched from Ilterendi. It fit her loosely, but she didn't mind. Working quickly she removed her confining dress and undid her hair from its ornate styling, piling the items on the floor. She left the corset on, but laced it loosely under the swordsman's shirt. Tying the pants, she slipped a black sash around her waist, wrapping it a few times before tying it and leaving it to hang. She tied the sword and sheath to this and wrapped the cloak around her shoulders.

Shoving the box back under the bed, she searched the table in her room for another vase. Her searching fingers quickly found on, and she threw it at the door again. She couldn't have them thinking she was actually behaving.

Walking back to her bed, she grabbed the curved foot board and pulled. The lightweight piece of furniture slid almost soundlessly across the polished wooden floor of her room. Once the door had been barricaded she turned the window. Pulling aside the delicate curtains, she picked up a a stone figurine from a nearby table.

Her father may have locked the window but glass was very breakable as she had already demonstrated several times. Walking back across the room, she picked up her water pitcher. The container still had a good amount of liquid in it. She threw the pitcher, at the same time, flinging the figurine through the window. Water and glass flew across the floor accompanied by a loud crash.

Carefully, so she wouldn't cut herself, she reached out to the catch her father had installed and lifted it. Athrun hadn't wanted the lock to be complicated in case he had need of the window at some time. She pushed the other window open.

Feeling her way, she slipped one leg over the ledge and leaned out. She knew from experience that a thin ledge ran all the way along the steep side of the flet, only about an inch wide, but that was plenty enough for an elf to use. Holding her body flat against the structure, she slid out on the tiny ledge, inching her way to the right, her hand searching along the side of the building ahead of her.

She knew she couldn't be seen from the ground level. Tree branches and vines obscured the view. The feeling of the leaves and twigs brushing against her face was evidence of this.

The ledge continued for another meter or two, before it came to a small column support, which she could easily shimmy down, as long as there was no one around below. She wrapped both arms around the pole, then one foot. Taking a deep breath, she stepped off the ledge and slid rapidly to the forest floor. No matter how many times she did that it was still exhilarating.

She stepped quietly away from the pole and into the surrounding shelter of the undergrowth and giant trees. The feeling of immense age and wisdom settled around her. She had always felt close to nature, but her lack of site made it even more so. It was one of the few benefits of her handicap.

Walking as quickly as she safely could, Aingeal began putting as much distance as she could between herself and her father. He had crossed the line this time, and there was no way she could go back and face him.

Staying close to the buildings, she silently made her way to the kitchens, where she gathered some supplies, and then out to the gardens by the outer wall. Her lithe cloaked frame was fairly invisible as she slipped through the peaceful city. She came to the hidden gate. Her hand searching for the latch, she cursed in anger. Someone had had the foresight to fit it with a lock.

Pulling off the clasp from her cloak, she quickly set about picking the lock, her ears alert for the sound of approaching feet, while at the same time listening to the mechanism of the lock. At last, it popped open. Re-clasping her cloak, she carefully opened the gate, cringing as it grated against old hinges.

Aingeal closed the gate behind her, listening to make sure it locked again. Satisfied that no one would know she can exited this way, she proceeded on her way. The sun overhead was bright but she blended in with the shadows of the forest. Her footsteps were silent and any movement she caused in the undergrowth was nothing more than light breeze would have made.

XXXXXXXX

He followed her as silently as a phantom, had seen her covert exit from the elven city. He had watched her for months, following her when she sneaking away. His instincts told him that this time was different. This time, no one knew she was gone, no one knew she was not planning to return. If he had anything to say about it, she would never see another living soul ever again. What remained of her life, he wanted to make miserable. He wanted to make her beg for death.


	5. Dangerous Games

The scent of sweaty bodies and ale mingled in the warm air of the inn's common room. Eavan thought idly to himself how the familiar smells seemed to be a common occurrence in most inns. Taking another swig of the ale in his mug, he glanced around the room, attentive to everything going on around him. A gaggle of men huddled around the fire talking, despite the oppresive heat of the day.

A shriek sounded from the kitchens followed by a frying pan being hurled through the open doorway at some unseen target. Eavan nearly choked on his ale with laughter when a straggly, dirt-covered urchin dove from behind the bar and took cover under his table. He leaned back enough to get a look at the little vagabond hiding near his feet.

"I'm not here!" The boy informed him in a fierce whisper.

"I can see that," Eavan said wryly, returning to his drink.

A raging kitchen maid soon followed the frying pan turned projectile. "Where is that little scamp?" the inn had by now fallen silent. The patrons simply stared at the irate female with blank expressions. "Don't you liars dare tell me he got away this time."

"I'm afraid..." Eavan stood and ignored the scared chirp he heard from under his table. "that he has indeed escaped."

"Who are you?" The wench waved another pan at him menacingly.

"Simply a weary traveller. Had I had the chance, I would have detained him for you for he seemed an unworthy criminal. One such as you should not be so plagued." Eavan replied smoothly, the honeyed words dripping from his tongue with ease.

The wench looked a bit startled, as if not sure how to respond to this smooth tongued strangers reply. Eavan could feel the little rascal beneath his table fidgeting around, and gave him a slight nudge with his toe, as if to say "sit still before you get me in trouble."

The wench lowered her frying pan after surveying the room once more and gave Eavan a small smile. "It's nice to know that some people still have manners," her smile slowly widened. "Do you have a name, sir?"

"I am known simply as Eavan." He bowed gallantly. "Might I ask what the young rascal did to incur your wrath?"

"Oh, nothing that you need bother about," she flashed him another smile and glanced at his mug. "Ah, I see you're almost empty! Marie! Hurry up and fill this fine gentleman's cup again girl!" She shouted to the maid at the bar. The normal buzz of idle chatter was quickly falling back over the room, but to Eavan's dismay, the wench didn't leave. "So what brings you to these parts fine sir?" she inquired as the second maid scurried up to fill his mug again.

"I.." he stopped as he felt a small hand sneaking into his money pouch. Stuttering slightly, he slipped his hand under the table, "..um, on business, Miss." The second maid stayed by the table, smiling widely at Eavan. Eavan gave the little scamp under the table a slight kick.

"Business is so dull. I'm Rana, by the way." Rana continued to smile at him, twisting a lock of her greasy brown hair slowly around one finger. "How long will you be in town?"

Eavan cleared his throat, becoming increasingly uncomfortable but losing none of his charm. "For another hour at least, then I must be on my way. I stopped only to rest."

He invited Rana to join him for a few minutes and continued to endure her not so very subtle advances. When he decided he could stand no more, he stood and pulled his cloak around his shoulders, motioning for his unseen table mate to get behind him. "I have much enjoyed our talk, Rana, but I'm afraid I must now be on my way."

"So soon?" Rana visibly pouted.

"Yes, my fair lady, but I shall carry an image of your... lovely face with me in hopes that I may one day return."

He made his break for the door as gracefully as he could, pushing his little friend ahead of him under the cover of his cloak. Finally making it out the door, he gripping the boy by the collar as he tried to dash away. "You're going to get yourself into a lot of trouble some day," he warned the little scamp. The boy gave him a sheepish grin. "What did you do anyway?"

The kid grinned, "Nothing really." Eavan raised an eyebrow doubtfully. "I just asked her to marry me is all."

XXXXXXXX

Aingeal stumbled over yet another root. She cursed but quickly regained her balance. She wished she had brought a staff, but it was too late for such things. As if to smart her pride a little more, she was reminded that she had no walking staff at home. Any she had been given were stored away because she refused to use them.

It had been nearly two hours since she had left by way of the tiny gate in the city wall. She wanted to put as much distance between her and her father as quickly as possible. He was an excellent tracker, and she didn't doubt that with all of her stumbling that she was leaving a fine trail to follow. She couldn't help but feel slightly uneasy, though she wasn't sure why. The world around her seemed quieter than usual, but then it was again probably attributed to her presence.

A soft rustle to her right caused her to stiffen. "It's nothing." she muttered after a few seconds. "It's the wind." Her reassurance as to the cause did not give any comfort, however, for she would have heard the wind. Her sense of hearing was now her strongest sense. The loss of her sight gave her such acute awareness of sound that even the smallest of noises was brought to her immediate attention.

Aingeal continued on, uneasy as she was attentive to her surroundings now. After a few moments she stopped again, smelling the air. There was water nearby. She was surprised she hadn't heard it before she smelled it. It was probably just a small brook at that. Allowing her sensed to guide her she quickly found a small gurgling stream. Kneeling on the warm sun baked stones that lined the waters edge, she dipped her hand into the cold fresh water.

Sipping from her hand, she splashed the remaining water on her face, letting the cold water refresh her senses. The noisy babble of the stream drowned out the other noises around her. She didn't hear the deadly soft footsteps of the cloaked figure that crept slowly behind her...

She stiffened slightly as she caught the foul scent. Too late, she turned to run. A sharp blow across the head sent her stumbling. Reeling, her foot caught and twisted on a loose stone. She fell, striking her head against one of the stones of the stream, and then she knew nothing.

XXXXXXXX

Mornië sighed in relief as the crashes and thumps that had issued from Aingeal's room ceased. Raising her eyes to the ceiling, she mentally wondered what damage had been done. Athrun mumbled something under his breath from across the room drawing his wife's attention.

"Why do you not listen to her?" Mornië posed the question gently.

"What do you mean?" Athrun's head snapped up.

"You're going to have to realize that she is just as independent as you are. You can't keep her shut up here forever. Let her learn. Let her find out what she is and is not able to do."

Athrun crossed the room to his wife. "You think I'm being too hard on her?"

Mornië nodded. "Yes, I do. Give her a chance Athrun; she's not as helpless as you make her to be."

Athrun ran his hand through his black hair in troubled thought. "I worry for her Mornië. She's our only daughter. I can't help but want to protect her from the hurts of life."

Mornië looked at him compassionately. "I know love, but you can't." She could see the pain in his eyes. "Let her have a little freedom. If she wants to wander some, let her. I don't think she's trying to escape." Mornië wrapped her arms around Athrun as she said this. "It's natural to feel vulnerable. You're a parent, not one who can see all ends."


	6. Ghost From the Past

Aingael blinked her eyes blearily. Her head ached dully and even the perpetual darkness that was her sight seemed to throb and pulse. Groaning, she mad an attempt to sit up. The smell of burning wood and ash assailed her nostrils. Wherever she was, there was a camp fire nearby. 

Her hands were bound behind her back tightly with rough twisted rope. It wasn't elven. Odd, that wracked by pain, this would be the first clear thought to enter her mind. Jagged splinters of stone cut into her side cruelly as she tried to sit up. There was no earth beneath her, only smooth hard stone. She could hear something moving nearby. "Who's there?"

"So the blind runt has awoken at last." The derisive voice made a slander of the graceful Sindarin language. "How does it feel my lady to know that you're now the slave of your Father's worst enemy?"

Aingael scoffed to hide the fear his words sent through her. "My parents? They don't have enemies."

"So they've never told you," He laughed coldly. The sound of his voice set Aingeal on edge, uneasy and distrustful, but at the same time she wanted to know what he meant.

"Never told me what?" He didn't speak, but she could hear him moving again, this time coming closer to her. A thin bony hand gripped her arm as she tried to pull away. She knew that hand, somehow... in the back of her mind, refusing to resurface. Still it sent a shiver of unexplained fear through her. "Don't touch me!" She tried to pull out of his grasp uselessly.

"Oh, are you going to make me you little brat!"

The sound of a knife being pulled from a leather sheath made Aingeal freeze for several seconds, but she came back to herself quickly. Screaming, she lunged away from her captor despite the effect her movements had on her head. In spite of her efforts, the cold steel blade was pressed to forearm and cut deeply into the skin.

"You're going to suffer as I have suffered all these years." A searing liquid was poured over the fresh, bleeding cut. Her arm felt like it was on fire. The pain was so intense that she fainted.

"Now, now, we can't have that." Reaching for something in his pouch, he produced a smelling salt and held it to Aingeal's nose. The she-elf's nose wrinkled and she began to wake for the second time in a short period of time. He poured more of the liquid onto dirty strips of cloth and bound them around the cut while she was still recovering from her grogginess.

When she was finally able to sit up again, she glared at her attacker. "Why are you doing this? What did I or my parents ever do to you?"

She could almost sense his glare upon her. "Your father murdered my brother, Thalion." Aingeal refused to believe him.

"My father would not do such a thing," despite her dislike of her father, she disliked this man even more.

"No? Your mother watched him die. In fact, she bears a scar give her by your so-called 'father.' You might have seen it. Its just below the hairline on her forehead. It would be very faint now, but when you were little you had to have seen it."

"Who are you?" Aingeal did not acknowledge that she had indeed seen the scar he spoke of.

"Your mother never mentioned me? Funny, since she seemed to be so close to my brother."

Aingeal fought off a wave of dizziness, wondering what he had poured into the cut on her arm. "What are you talking about?"

"I am Amarth, once a friend of your mothers before she betrayed me. Your are the pitiful result of her treachery." He laughed softly, the sound making Aingeal uneasy. "I supposed that would make me your uncle."

"What do you mean?" Aingeal asked slowly.

Amarth cleared his throat. "Well, let's see." He spoke to her as if she were a very small child. According to the laws of family relationships, for me to be your uncle your father would have to be my brother. My brother was Thalion."

"Thalion was our dog." Aingeal grated out through her clenched teeth.

"True, but your dog was named after your father. Consider it adding insult to injury." Amarth slapped her across the face. "That's for your insolence."

Aingeal turned her face to the ground as he walked a few feet away. "Athrun is my father. You are a deranged madman."

"Nay, do not fool yourself." Amarth began adding fuel to his dieing fire. The sun would begin to set soon and the nights were cold in the forest. "Your mother had a rather, how shall I say... illicit relationship behind your father's back while he was away defending Imladris that once was. You are the product of her deceit. It's because of you that Athrun killed my brother."

XXXXXXXX

Judging by the long silence from the room above, Athrun found it safe to assume that Aingeal had calmed down somewhat. He knew his wife was right about her, as much as he might want to argue. She usually was.

"I'm going to go talk to her," He told Mornië as he stood, heading for the door.

"Be nice," Mornië smiled at him.

Athrun ignored her comment good naturedly, as he knocked lightly on the door. "Aingeal?" he knocked again when there was no answer. "Can I come in?" Still no answer. Slowly, he opened the door just enough to see in. The room was empty. He sighed and pushed the door open a little more. Large chunks of broken class and ceramics littered the floor. The wooden had been broken, apparently from the inside. Athrun shook his head. He had to admire her stubbornness, and he knew she came by it honestly.

He made his way back down the stairs to fetch and broom and a bucket. "She's gone." He said simply when Mornië looked at him questioningly.

"Are you going to go find her?" The delicately posed question made him pause.

"No," he finally shook his head. "She'll come home when she's ready."

Mornië smiled. She knew that this wasn't coming easy for him. His first nature was to chase after her, protect her. Ever since the attack that caused her blindness so many years before, Athrun had become even more protective of his daughter than before. He could hardly stand to let her out of his sight, fearful that she might be hurt again. It had hurt him terribly when Aingeal lost her sight. She knew he blamed himself.

She looked out the window to the gardens beyond. Dusk was slowly starting to fall as the sun descended in the sky. She couldn't help but hope Aingeal had the sense to come back before dark.

XXXXXXXXX

Eavan glanced back at his 'shadow'. "Do you have a name?" he asked finally.

"No." The boy shrugged. "Never needed one."

"Right," Eavan smirked and shook his head. "All right, Oh Nameless One. I need you to do me a favour."

"What is it?" the boy looked at him suspiciously.

"I need a horse. Not some farm nag, but a good riding horse."

The scamp thought for a minute. "I think I know where I can get one. Do you want me to steal it?"

Eavan shook his head but grinned. "No, I'll pay." He pulled a pouch filled with coins from his pack. "Take this, buy the horse, and meet me at the small grove of trees outside the village." Eavan did not really expect to see the boy again, but this was his way of helping him out of a rough spot.

Eavan made his way unhurriedly to the grove anyway. He didn't intend to ever have to steal again. He had plenty of gold to last him the rest of his days. Still, he was young, and he couldn't help but hope that more adventures awaited him. Settling in the grass at the base of a tree in the sheltering grove, he stared up at the sky, idly watching the wisps of cloud float past high above.

After nearly an hour, he stiffened slightly at the sound of someone approaching, looking up sharply to see the boy standing there holding the reins of a dark horse.

"That was fast," Eavan was very careful to keep his surprise from showing on his face.

"I have my ways. It's a gelding," the boy just grinned.

Eavan stood and began examining the horse. The animal had fine lines and carried his head well. There were no obvious cuts or bruising. "You did good." Eavan nodded approvingly. "Was there any money left?" "

Yes," the scamp replied while shaking the pouch.

Eavan took the reins from his young friend. "Keep it and use it to take care of yourself." After mounting, he looked down at the now beaming youth. "And try not to cross any more tavern wenches."

XXXXXXXX

Athrun leaned heavily against a pillar, staring out at the starlit sky. The bright stars hung like tiny crystals cast out upon the dark blanket of the sky. They told him a story. In their depths they held thousands of years of history, gazing down upon the changing world, themselves unchanged. It made one feel very small to look at them. He was broken from his reverie by a hand on his shoulder.

"Lord Athrun," it was Ilterendi. He looked troubled.

"What is it?" Athrun was instantly concerned.

"Aingeal, she is still missing."

"What!"

"She's no where to be found in the city Milord."

Athrun took a moment to calm himself. "Are you sure?"

Ilterendi nodded emphatically. "I checked everywhere. I even went to the cliff where we found her a few days ago." The elf was clearly distraught. "She's disappeared."

Without another word, Athrun strode past Ilterendi and back into his flet. Mornië was sitting on the floor with their young son, Eihm cradled in her lap, reading to him from a book. It had become a nightly tradition for the two before he was put to bed. "She's gone. Ilterendi can't find her anywhere." Athrun paced like a caged animal.

"Are you sure?" Mornië understood and shared her husbands concern. It was one thing for Aingeal to go missing during the day. It was an entirely different matter for her to be alone outside the city at night. The surrounding land was home to all sort of creatures. The wolf packs nightly could be heard outside the city walls. Mornië placed Eihm in his cradle and crossed the room to a large wood cabinet where the family weapons were stored. "We must search for her. Can Ilterendi get some of the others to help?"

"I'll ask." Athrun turned to see Ilterendi standing in the doorway.

"I'll gather all I can." The elf strode out the door purposefully.

Mornië nodded to him as he passed, then handed Athrun his bow and quiver. After retrieving her own weapons, which included the knives Athrun had gifted her in Imladris, she met Athrun's eyes. "I'll have Ariel watch Eihm until we return.

XXXXXXXX

Aingeal lay curled in a ball against the cold stone, attempting to ward off the chill night air. She could hear the crackling of the fire nearby, but was not near enough to feel its warmth. Despite the pleasant aroma of food wafting from the fire, she felt queasy and sick. She felt as if she were burning up inside, despite the cold. She found herself wondering what Amarth had put in the cut on her arm.

She and her captor had not spoken since many hours before, and Aingeal had no wish to break the silence. She found his words playing through her mind. Was he telling the truth? As much as she didn't want to believe it, the thought remained.


	7. A Fading Hope

Aingeal drifted in and out of sleep for a period of a few hours, unable to situate herself comfortably on the hard stone, and plagued by fever and chills. As things began to grow silent around her, she began to consider attempting to escape. Perhaps Amarth was asleep? But a slight noise from her captor would always quickly drive the thoughts away.

"I didn't say anything." she muttered.

Amarth chuckled sadistically. "Don't lie." He paused for a moment. "Ah, I know what it is. All those thing I told you, circling, circling through your head. You can't fight the truth, little one, because the truth shall set you free. In this case, it sets you free from the life you hated and from the lies of your so-called parents." He stood over her once again. "You should be thanking me."

"I'd die before thanking you," Aingeal spat at him through clenched teeth.

"That you will little one, that you will," His voice made her stomach churn in fear, "Sooner than you think. In fact..." His cold fingers touch her face as she pull away in revulsion, "I suspect you will beg for death before long."

XXXXXXXX

Mornië glanced up at Athrun's haggard face. Neither of them had slept all night, and morning was near. Grey traces of dawn already tainted the eastern sky.

"We tracked her for two miles. Then, she just disappeared." Athrun questioned quietly, his voice revealing how stunned he was. "It's not possible for any living being to simply dissolve into thin air."

"We traced and retraced her path. There was nothing." Mornië wrapped him in her arms.

Athrun clung to his wife like a small child. "She ran. She was running from me because she hates me."

Mornië didn't know what to do, what to say. Combating her own grief and maternal instinct as she tried to suppress the urge to panic. "We'll find her Athrun," She forced herself to believe her own words. "She'll find her way. I don't know of anyone who would want to harm her. If it were a wild animal we would have found tracks." She attempted to reassure him.

XXXXXXXX

Aingeal stumbled to her knees in exhaustion. She had walked for hours it seemed tied by her hands to Amarth's horse.

He yanked on the rope roughly, and she felt the rough, braided fibres dig into the soft flesh of her wrists. "Get up, weakling! Thalion would be ashamed to call you his daughter if he could see you limping and falling about."

She growled under her breath, biting back a retort that would most likely get her beaten. Amarth nudged his horse into a trot. Aingeal was barely able to keep up, but her mind began turning over thoughts of escape. She knew her feet were bleeding. If someone found their trail they could follow the blood.

Her hopes for this course were shattered almost instantly. A soft wind began to blow. At the same time, the temperature of the air dropped several degrees. The rain would wash away any hoof prints or blood. Not even the best of trackers would be able to find her.

Aingeal was beginning to despair, and wondered if anyone was even looking for her. If what Amarth said was true, then Athrun would be more than happy that she was gone. He would not bother to track her down. Her mother would feel some remorse, but she would poor all of her attention and love into Eihm. Her mind shied away from this train of thought.

At the same time, she was becoming more and more certain that Amarth had poisoned her. The steady fever was slowly draining her energy. She could tell they were travelling along a little used path by the vines and branches that tugged at her hair and feet occasionally. She had long since lost any sense of direction. Her only focus on taking one more step, trying not to stumble and fall.

Without warning, an idea presented itself to her. She could use the path Amarth travelled to her advantage. Rain might wash away blood and footprints, but it could not wash way broken branches and other such signs. She began weaving back and forth across the trail, allowing the small branches, thorns, and vines to snag on her clothing and break. A small ripping sound made her smile as she felt a piece of her sleeve tear free.

She could only hope that someone would be able to pick up the trail. Amarth had taken her very far. If they didn't think to search this far or in this direction... no, she couldn't think that way. Her mind was in a constant fog, probably another side effect of the poison she was certain Amarth had poured in her wound. Trying to shake it off, to clear her thoughts; she had to stay alert. If the opportunity to escape presented itself, she would take it.

XXXXXXXX

Eavan led his horse slowly through a small stream. The boy had been true to his word and brought him a good horse, but it was skittish of water. This was the third stream he had had to wade through. Grumbling quietly, he looked up quickly when he felt something drop on his head. He was worried that it might be a little gift from a bird winging over head and was relieved when he realized it was rain. Ducking his head to pull his cloak up, he froze when a patch of red on the ground before his feet caught his eye.

Stooping to get a better look, he found the dust in the path had been bloodied. A little farther on there was another small patch of blood in the dust, and another, and another. He quickly realized they were footprints. He had never been much of a tracker, but he could see that they were shuffled and irregular, as if the person who had made them was stumbling. And they looked semi-fresh.

Another droplet of rain struck his arm, and the low rumble of thunder in the distance told him more was on the way. The wind was picking up, driving the heavy clouds across the sky, obliterating the sun.

Eavan ignored the rain now sporadically falling on his head and began jogging up the trail, pulling his reluctant horse behind him. Whoever had left these footprints was in need of aid. If the rain washed them away before he could reach them, he had a very small chance of every picking up their trail again.

His pace quickened as the rain began falling heavier. Water obliterated the blood as quickly as he laid eyes on it.

The rain began to pour down in torrents, turning the dust of the path to mud and soaking Eavan to the bone. He didn't mind the rain. In fact, he would have welcomed it if not for the fact that it had very well erased the tracks completely. Hoping that maybe there might be some indication to follow, his eyes searched the mud of the path, the torrential down pour blocking his vision as water ran into his eyes. Blinking it away fiercely, he reached to push the fingers of the bare branches away from him as he kept on down the path. He stopped as his fingers touched something. Something not native to that particular plant he was sure. A small scrap of black cloth rested in his hand, plucked from the branches.

He felt what little hope he had rekindled. His fears of this person being a captive, however, were strengthened. He glanced up the path and saw a trail of broken branches and flattened grass. No person under normal circumstances would leave signs like these.

He quickened his pace and continued stumbling his way onto clues: broken branches, small remnants of blood not washed away by the rain, and more pieces of black cloth. But, the rain wasn't helping any. Not only did it obliterate his vision, but the horse hated it, fighting him every step of the way. The going was slow, and he knew that eventually he would have to take shelter from the rain.


	8. Rodyn

Eihm giggled insanely as he rammed two wooden, toy carriages together. He continued to make such racket, driving Ariel nearly to her wits end. How Mornië stood the constant noise, she would never know. 

"Aunt Ariel?" The little boy looked up at her as if a worrisome thought had suddenly entered his young, sheltered mind. "Where's 'Geal?"

Ariel smiled at hi nickname for his sister. "Um, she's away."

"When will she come back?"

Ariel's voice caught in her throat, unable to speak, she just smiled at the small boy for a moment as she regathered her composure. "I'm not sure Eihm." She fought back tears of frustration and helplessness. Ariel quickly distracted the child with his toys before he could ask any more questions.

She had become Eihm's primary caretaker since Aingeal's disappearance a few days before.

Mornië and Athrun were exhausting themselves in their desperate search for their daughter, but nothing new showed itself for all their efforts.

They had searched the woods for any sign of travel or struggle. Ariel was beginning to wonder if they should be looking for a corpse. She shoved these thoughts away viciously; Aingeal had to be alive. A girl that determined to have her freedom would not surrender to Mandos very easily.

XXXXXXXX

Eavan woke from his light sleep, hardly refreshed. He was soaking and cold, though the rain had stopped sometime in the night. He had hobbled his horse nearby, and burrowed down in the underbrush off the path to escape the brunt of the storm. Standing up, he stretched stiffly, wringing out his cloak the best he could.

The golden pink rays of the sun were just peaking over the tips of the trees, filtering down in little fingers of golden light that danced across the ground. The trees hung heavily with the rain, and the sound of the drops falling from their bows could be heard.

Eavan surveyed the path with a bit of dismay. The rain had packed and smoothed the path, removing all traces of any tracks. He moved to where he had left his horse and quickly un-hobbled the animal, balling up his heavy drenched cloak and tucking it under the saddle bags.

He continued on foot for a way, chewing on a piece of dried meat that he had dug from inside one of the saddle bags as he went. Here and there, small signs of passing persons showed themselves, but he was no tracker, and it was hard to distinguish which marks had been made by a person, and which were simply a result of nature.

"Stealing a priceless, heavily guarded gem would be easier than this." Eavan muttered half to himself, half to his horse. "Whoever this is, it had better be worth it." He felt somewhat ashamed at this thought, but shrugged it away. "You now, it's going to be kind of embarrassing if this turns out to be nothing." His horse whuffled in response.

He returned his gaze to the path. Much of the time he was just guessing at where he should be going. As the sun slowly rose into sky, he debated with himself about why he was even on this wild goose chase to begin with. Twice he met the tracks of a deer or other wild animal crossing the fresh damp earth of the path. As the sun crept to its peak overhead, he finally stopped, extracting some more food from his saddle bags.

"You know," He spoke to his horse idly as he rested, "I really shouldn't be worried about this at all, I've got a great life ahead of me; plenty of food, drink and women."

The horse grunted indifferently in response. Eavan stared at the horse for a few moments thoughtfully as he chewed. Finally he stood, patting the horse on its muzzle. "You're right," He said, as if the animal had spoken to him, "If I don't find any reason to continue in the next few hours, I'll go on my way."

XXXXXXXX

Amarth pulled a small vial from his bags and held it to the light. The yellowish liquid twinkled slightly. With a satisfied nod, he strode toward his captive. "Open your mouth," he growled.

Aingeal stiffened and clamped her lips tightly closed.

"Don't make me force it into you because I will, and it will be most unpleasant. Do yourself a favour."

She shook her head.

"Very well then." Amarth backhanded her, then hauled her to her knees. He placed the heel of his right hand on her forehead, holding her nose with the same hand. The blow had dazed her, and she was gasping for breath. Amarth poured the liquid into her mouth, clamping her jaw closed after throwing the vial into the grass.

Aingeal grimaced and choked on the bitter liquid as it burned its way down her throat. Gasping and coughing as Amarth let her go, she recoiled from him, collapsing in the grasp. She could taste blood on her lip as a small droplet fell from her chin to the damp grass where she lay collapsed, a reminder of his continued cruelty.

"Get up," Amarth kicked her viciously in the ribs, "We've still a ways to go before resting."

Aingeal attempted to gain her feet, struggling with her hands bound before her. "Why don't you just kill me now and get it over with!" she demanded, surprised by her own boldness with this man who held her life in his palm.

"So, you have spirit after all!" Amarth just laughed. "If I killed you now, what use would you be to me. I receive vindication from your suffering. My soul is redeemed by your wounds. Your death shall free me from everything I am enslaved to."

"You're crazy," Aingeal spat at him, her contempt fuelling her bold speech.

"Perhaps a little, young one, but no more than the rest of this wretched world."

XXXXXXXX

"I must be crazy," Eavan glanced around. It had to be nearly 6 o'clock in the evening, and he had found nothing more than more broken branches in the last few hours. He glanced at his horse. "You're not going to let me stop are you?" The animal glared at him. Eavan laughed and shook his head as his gaze fell back to the ground. "I am crazy. I'm talking to my horse."

He pushed ferns and low-growing plants out of his way, half-watching for footprints and things. He wasn't really expecting to find anything. Whoever had passed this way was covering their tracks very well; that or he was an even worse outdoors man than he had previously thought.

Eavan continued shuffling through the undergrowth, dragging his feet tiredly. He was fast approaching exhaustion, and his stomach grumbled loudly in protest to his continued lack of sustenance. His booted toe connected with something that definitely was not organic. He heard a soft _chink_ and a rattle as whatever it was bounced over the rough ground before reaching a new resting point.

He stopped and knelt, carefully picking up a small empty glass vial from the grass. There were still a few droplets of vile smelling liquid inside of it, which he took to mean it had not been there overly long. He examined the surrounding area where he had found the vial. The grass was broken and flattened in the surrounding area, as if someone had fallen and lain there briefly.

In a few spots he found the earth torn up. Probably from a boot heel being dug into the ground. A scuffle of sorts had apparently taken place. He brushed his hand through the grass, looking for any other signs he may have missed.

Finding nothing else of interest, Eavan turned his interest back to the vile. What little liquid remained was an odd, opalescent yellow. The smell faintly reminded him or something that he could not quite place.

"Well, here goes nothing," he breathed a silent prayer as he let a few drops fall into his mouth.

He knew as well as anyone that testing foreign substances by taste was foolish, but he felt there was no other alternative in this case. A sickly sweet burning rippled over his tongue.

Eavan gagged and spit into the grass. "An antidote." He took a quick drink of water from one of his skins. "Why is there a vial that once contained an antidote for Rodyn here of all places?" He rattled off the effects of the poison out loud as he gave the area one final search. "A slow acting poison that upon entering its victim's bloodstream causes fever, hallucinations, and headaches; all easily brushed off as common illnesses until it's too late."

He tucked the vial into one of the saddle bags as he returned to the path to search for tracks as he continued to give his horse a lesson on the effects of the poison Rodyn. "As the poison nears the end of its cycle, the victim may experience small seizures, loss of conciousness, and other various symptoms, ultimately ending in the victim's death." That old village hag had taught him well. However, he was now even more worried about whoever it was he was tracking.

Rodyn was extremely hard to come by, and even the antidote was even more rare. It was evident that he was tracking more than one person as well. He was inclined to think from all the signs that one was being held against their will. Perhaps they deserved what they were getting, but he couldn't help the uneasy feeling in his gut that drove him on.

If the antidote was being used at the right intervals, the effects of the poison could be slowed long enough to suit the purposes of whoever administered the poison; but it's side effects would be horrendous. The antidote caused the entire body to detoxify itself: vomiting and other unpleasantness could be expected.

Eavan quickened his pace, his former weariness and hunger completely forgotten. He knew in the back of his mind that he was this persons last and probably only hope of survival.


End file.
